Playing Cards
by teh Michiru
Summary: Migel likes to play cards, but Dilandau’s a sore loser. Rating because Dilandau curses. We need a ‘fluff’ category on this site…
1. Migel's Cards

Title: Playing Cards

Summary: Migel likes to play cards, but Dilandau's a sore loser. (We need a 'fluff' category on this site…)

Chapter: One-shot, unless people ask for more. ('People' is plural.)

Warnings: Eh… Dilandau curses. And it's kinda short.

* * *

A red-and-black-gloved hand slammed down on the table, sending cards fluttering through the air. "Dammit, Migel!" Said boy scowled, watching his cards crash to the floor.

"You don't _have_ to play, sir," he muttered, reaching down to resentfully pick up his prized deck. To his surprise, his angry, albino captain reached down as well, gathering together a fistful of the cards.

"Oh, no. I'm _going_ to beat you." Migel felt a grin twitch across his face before he could school it back into its customary attentiveness. "Stratego _says_ I need a hobby…"

"I wouldn't put money on that, sir. I _never_ lose."

Dilandau tossed his silvery head, smirking. "Neither do I."

* * *

A second Dragon Slayer watched from behind a closed door, smiling a small smile.

"Gatti?" a sleepy voice asked. Guimel, the owner of the voice, materialized behind him, peering over his shoulder. "Are they still going at it?"

"Yes. So far, Migel's won twelve times to zero."

"Arrgh!" A frustrated scream echoed down the hallway they lurked in, and Gatti muffled a laugh as their commander threw up his arms in exasperation.

"Thirteen," the messenger boy amended, tossing Guimel a glance and sweatdropping. "Uh… Guimel?"

"What?" the smallest Slayer asked, blinking.

"…Why're you wearing those?" The boy looked down at his bear-printed pajamas and crossed his arms defensively; blush visible even in the poor light.

"Leave me alone, Gatti," he grumbled. The taller blonde snickered quietly, and Guimel huffed, stalking back to his room and muttering about insensitive messenger-Slayers.


	2. Gatti's Late

Title: Playing Cards

Summary: Migel likes to play cards, but Dilandau's a sore loser. (We need a 'fluff' category on this site…)

Chapter: Two

Warnings: Dilandau still curses.

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* * *

**

"Dammit! Where _is _Gatti? He's late!" Folken sighed, shaking his head. It was true- the blond-haired Slayer was two minutes late, but Folken didn't feel Dilandau had any room to talk- or, rather, shout. After all, _Dilandau's_ meeting with Folken had been scheduled for two hours previous, and the albino soldier had strutted in just under five minutes ago.

"Dilandau, you would say the same thing if he'd gotten here before you," the Strategos pointed out calmly. The red-eyed boy whipped around to fix him with a glare.

"No; _then_ he'd have been _early_ which is _almost as bad_ as being late!" The logical part of the 'logic' escaping him, Folken just shook his head, content, for now, to let the wild card rant and rave.

"Dammit!" Dilandau shouted again. "Dammit! I _hate_ waiting!"

"Dilandau, is there anything you _don't_ hate?" Folken asked, chin resting in his hand.

"_Yes_," the other leered. "I _don't_ hate it when my damn _Dragon Slayers_ bother to keep up with their own damn schedules!" _He's lucky you don't get court martialed for excessive use of explicatives,_ Folken mused.

"If they're that terrible, maybe you should replace them." Dilandau actually looked surprised at the suggestion.

"Ha! They'd rather _die_ than displease me."

"You must have many suicidal men on your hands, then."

"What?" Folken smirked.

"You're impossible to please." Dilandau rolled his eyes, sneering at the older man.

"Look here, _Stratego_," Folken shook his head at the nickname, but sat up straighter and gave the boy his full attention. Dilandau had the innate ability to sense when someone was paying mind to what he said, and if you weren't listening he'd raise hell. "If they can't make the _im_possible _possible_, then they _don't_ belong in my Dragon Slayers."

"Do you ever praise them for a job well-done?" The ex-Fanelian prince asked, eyebrow raised.

"Have we _caught_ the Dragon yet?" Dilandau demanded. Folken shook his head wordlessly, already knowing where this was going. "Then, no!"

"Sorry I'm late, Dilandau-sa-" Without missing a beat, Dilandau swung around and punched his messenger to the floor.

"It's about time! You're _late_, Gatti!"


End file.
